TMNT: Sacrifice
by princessebee
Summary: 2k14verse. Raphril. Splinter confronts Raphael about his relationship with April.


"Raphael, I wish to speak with you."

Raphael froze, massive shoulders hunching up, arrested in what he thought was a silent and stealthy passage through the lair.

Splinter was seated calmly in his arm chair, back to Raphael. From where Raphael stood, he was unable even to see his sensei, and had the rat not spoken, he would not have realised he was there.

It was late. Raphael had stayed the day at April's – initially because necessity had demanded it, the sun having risen by the time they had awoken, Raphael firing off a quick text message to Leonardo then switching his phone off, in readiness to claim the battery had gone flat when he finally did get home.

But as night had fallen, April had clung to him and he had lingered. Leaving the tender embrace of paradise for the harsh sting of reality was hardly an appealing prospect and knowing he would have some serious explaining to do to his family only dissuaded him further.

But though he was loathe to admit it whenever it might appear as obedience or surrender, Raphael was as honour bound by duty in his own way as Leonardo and finally he had acknowledged he could not delay the moment of truth any longer.

Though that hadn't stopped him hoping his family were all abed and actually explaining himself could be put off until the morning. After all, it was late. And if he crept through the lair with extra-special care – well, he did not wish to disturb his sleeping brothers and father, that was all.

He should've known Splinter would not be denied so easily. And though the rat spoke calmly and softly, there was no mistaking this was an order, and not a request.

So Raphael merely exhaled deeply, deciding it was best to get it over and done with, turned to the shadows where his father waited, and with the slightest incline of his head, acknowledged: "_Hai_, sensei."

Splinter rose from his armchair and, not looking at his enormous son, moved slowly and smoothly to his private chamber, illuminated only by the light of dozens of candles running the length of one wall. Raphael followed, as he was expected to, and knelt before his sensei at the low table in the centre of the room, his heart thudding dully in his chest as he wondered what awaited him.

With a graceful motion of one paw, Splinter indicated that Raphael should relax his pose, that this was not a formal audience, and then set about making tea. Raphael, who did not care for the stuff, declined the silent offer and mused on the beers he had left behind at April's, rather wishing he had chugged a few now. He had been tempted at the time but had ultimately decided in favour of sobriety instead of bringing the powerful scent of alcohol within range of his father's sensitive nostrils when he did not know what sort of censure he was in for. _Nothing _was going to stop him from seeing April, but for once in his life he chose the path of least resistance, opting not to make things more difficult than they doubtless would be.

The silence stretched between them as Splinter went about the fussy ritual of the tea ceremony in the dark golden glow of the candlelight, not looking at his son. Raphael sat cross-legged before him, watching his father's graceful, considered movements with a knot between his brows. At first he had simply accepted he was in for a lecture following the forced disclosure of his relationship with April, and then some sort of excruciating punishment – including a demand to cease seeing April, a demand he was _not_ going to comply with and against which he was already primed, muscles taut and bristling, thoughts furious and intent, to argue. But as the seconds ticked past, each one seeming longer than the last, and still Splinter did not speak – did not even glance at his son, though Raphael was now studying him with open, almost hostile, enquiry – Raphael became confused and edgy, clenching and unclenching his fists so that the muscles of his arms bunched.

Finally Splinter had taken the first sip, set his cup down and looked at his son and whatever Raphael had been expecting, the calm dispassion in his sensei's eyes was far from it.

"Raphael, do you think it is fair to your family to disappear as you did last night, leaving us with no information on where you had gone and with no means of contacting you?"

Raphael at once felt a flood of relief and a rush of anger; glad he did not have to deal with the subject of April right away, irritated that Splinter would speak to him as though he were a child. Gritting his teeth against the instinctive impulse to rebel against the reprimand, Raphael waited until he was sure his voice would be steady before speaking, low and rough: "No, sensei."

Splinter ran a paw over his whiskers, somehow peering down the ends of his lengthy nose at his recalcitrant son, though as they were both seated Raphael was several heads above him.

"From the very beginning, it has always been the five of us. We depend upon each other, for stability, support and comfort. Though we are five individuals, we compose one whole and we are duty bound to each other, in our isolation from the world in which we live, to maintain the sanctity of the bond we share. This means showing appropriate respect to those who care about you, my son, those who fear for your safety and well-being when you vanish without explanation, those whose safety and well-being may be compromised by your carelessness. This means advising us of when you are going out and when you will return. It means taking responsibility for having your phone fully charged and on at all times. It means conducting yourself like the adult you wish to be treated as."

All throughout Splinter's speech, Raphael's temper had been steadily rising. He _knew_ all this shit; he'd heard this exact lecture, or some variation on it, dozens of times before. Raphael had always had a propensity for storming off in a temper or a moment of adventurous rebellion. When they were much younger, his brothers would panic and fret, his father become frantic and anxious and Raphael would eventually wander home to find himself in the midst of a raging storm. As time passed, they grew accustomed to it, if not at ease with it, and no matter the punishments he had to endure, the floods of tears from Michelangelo or the bitter recriminations from Leonardo, still Raphael persisted with the habit – perhaps as much to convince himself he did not desperately need his family as much as they needed him, that he was not incomplete without them, as to satisfy his itchy feet.

It wasn't for lack of _knowing_ the code that informed the family's conduct that Raphael had vanished the night before and switched his phone off and surely Splinter must realise that the hundredth lecture tediously reiterating the same damn crap wasn't going to make a difference. He was twenty-one years old, for fuck's sake! Too goddamn old for a lecture of this nature. These days Splinter settled for sending him to the _hashi_, knowing it wouldn't make much of a difference either but needing Raphael to understand for so long as he flaunted the considerations of his family there would be consequences.

So why, today of all days, would his sensei see fit to reintroduce the same old junk Raphael had had memorised at age twelve?

Raphael had been on the verge of an outburst, his muscles tensed and quivering, his blood pounding hotly through his veins, when his lowered gaze, darting furiously back and forth across the table, focused on Splinter's gnarled paw as the rat delicately turned his tea cup, and caught a slight tremor there.

And all of a sudden, it hit Raphael in a rush.

_He knows. Splinter knows everything. And he's stalling. _

And before he even realised he would, he had abruptly cut into his sensei's lecture and just spat it out:

"I was with April."

Splinter stopped and inhaled deeply, shutting his eyes for a moment.

Raphael swallowed, glanced to the side, his eyes lingering on a thin coil of dark smoke from a guttering candle, then back to his sensei. There were any number of ways his statement could be interpreted, but Raphael knew there was no uncertainty about what he meant. Now it was time to face it all head on and inwardly he steeled himself for the fight of his life.

Then Splinter exhaled and opened his eyes, regarding Raphael with a calm, but not unsympathetic, gaze.

"How would you describe the relationship you share?" he queried Raphael unexpectedly.

Taken aback, and with his head suddenly rushing with a cacophony of recollections from the day, Raphael stammered and drummed his fists on his thighs. A memory of April, lying in the crook of his arm, on her back with her legs splayed while his hand gently worked between her thighs, her face contorting as she climaxed, his mouth capturing hers in order to gulp down her cries, sprang unbidden into his mind and his cheeks burned and he dropped his gaze to the woven mat beneath him.

"Ah – we're – we're – " his voice dropped hoarsely and he cleared his throat, cheeks hot, tried again: "We've started something. We're together." And another memory, of April whispering to him: _'I know what this is to me now' _and kissing him deeply, rolling over beneath him easily, trustingly and though he hadn't yet been quite ready to take the final plunge, he'd thrust against her until he came, his loincloth the only barrier to their bodies joining, a torture that only intensified the eroticism of the moment, leaving him giddy with spots dancing behind his eyes. The leather had been drenched from her excitement and he'd scrubbed it thoroughly when he'd showered, hating having to wash away the scent of her that clung to his person like a comforting haze, but knowing it above all would tell the story of what he had been doing to a household full of mutants with strong olfactory senses, and he wanted to retain some measure of control over exactly how the revelation was disclosed.

Raphael kept his eyes trained downwards, fearful his sensei would see the explicit catalogue of images that played behind his gaze, but just as equally guarding with ferocious jealousy the tenderness and passion they had shared together, protecting it greedily as his and his alone. To look into Splinter's eyes now would be to divulge far more than he would ever be prepared to share with anyone regarding what happened between he and April when they were alone together – whether sexual or otherwise.

Again, Splinter sighed and Raphael heard the whisper of his paw gliding once more down his whiskers. "I confess; I had anticipated this."

That surprised Raphael and he couldn't help but throw a searching glance at the rat who sat opposite him in the low, flickering light, turning a delicate tea cup round and round in his paws, gazing into its murky depths with shining dark eyes. Splinter sensed the movement and smiled a little, raising his face and twisting his whiskers around one paw.

"My son, though I do not have the advantage of experience in this regard, I can nonetheless see beyond the tip of my nose. It was clear from the start you and April shared a… kinship." Splinter inclined his head delicately on this last, illustrating he had chosen his wording with great tact, feeling as seemingly awkward with the discussion as Raphael did. But to hear those words, however otherwise embarrassing the situation was, made Raphael's heart blaze with a fierce pleasure for a moment: the simplest validation, that others had perceived the pull between them that drew them, in the end, inexorably together. That its potential had been apparent to his father even as he himself was still denying its possibility.

But then Splinter was setting his cup carefully back down on the table and sighing heavily. "Though I had hoped nothing would come of it – or at least not yet."

Raphael was immediately suspicious and defensive, tensing up once more as he glared at his father, heart hammering unsteadily against his sternum. "Why?" he demanded, once again poised to fight, his voice like a thunderclap in the distance as he strove to keep it down, to avoid waking the others. Such mindfulness would only last so long – Raphael had been steadily accumulating defensive anger since he first stepped out of April's window, and he was wound up tighter than a rubber band.

Splinter regarded him with a calm and gentle gaze, not responding to the anger that burbled so clearly inside his son, all too ready at a moment's notice to erupt and scald them both.

"Oh my son," he sighed. "Have you considered the full implications of such a relationship? What it will mean for your life – and April's? Your world is just beginning to broaden and as it does so I am faced with the realisation I have kept you sheltered for too long and, perhaps in so doing, have done you a grave disservice. I am only concerned for your wellbeing, Raphael – that is all – " And here Splinter abruptly broke off, a troubled look contorting his brows as though there was much more he wanted to say, but struggled to find the words.

Raphael's rage had settled to a wary simmer when Splinter did not say anything suggesting he thought the relationship abhorrent or even inappropriate, but he could not calm completely. Though he'd known he would have to confront Splinter sooner or later, inevitably he was finding he resented the conversation, having to justify himself at all. And his concerns were insulting. If Raphael had not spent so much time and energy considering the "full implications" of what he and April being together would mean, things might have progressed a great deal faster. His sensei was once again treating him like a foolish child and Raphael's muscles knotted with tension as he struggled to prevail over his temper, saving his energy for the eventual battle they were doubtless to have over his right to continue seeing her as he was.

But as the silence between them stretched, as Raphael's jaw clenched and he tightened his fists on the mat at his sides, readying himself for any possibility – including the one that he would have to leave, however heartwrenching the notion – his father made a soft noise that had Raphael glancing over at him in amazement to witness the sheen that glimmered in the rat's eye.

In his own way, Splinter was as expressive and unfettered with his emotions as Michelangelo. When he was angry this meant lectures and scoldings, fur standing on end and ears back matched with apt punishments that made points keenly felt. When he was happy, it meant easy laughter and murmured snatches of song, his tail twitching cheerily and his whiskers quivering. He had been quick with his affections when the boys were young, though moderated them to suit his sons' individual preferences as they had grown – but one had only to ask and he was unstinting with a hug. It also meant that when he felt sorrow, he showed it as simply and directly as he did all else.

Gazing at his father now, Raphael witnessed the tears that shone so shamelessly in his deep black eyes and in another profound rush of realisation he understood that his father was not angry or annoyed or disappointed – he was merely afraid for him. Afraid that he would be hurt.

And for the first time that evening, Raphael locked eyes directly with his father's and stared straight into them, allowing Splinter to see all the way into his heart.

"I ain't givin' her up," he said steadily and he infused those five simple words with all the answers his father searched him for: yes, he understood the implications. Understood how difficult it was going to be. Understood the challenges a relationship that could not take place openly in the world was going to face. Understood it might not be enough in the long run for one or both of them. Understood what it asked of April and that it might lead to her breaking his heart, even if she didn't want to. That he chose her, nonetheless.

Splinter stared back into Raphael's eyes, his glittering pupils flickering back and forth as he silently absorbed all of that and more, and then he nodded once to indicate he understood before speaking again, in a slightly quavery voice:

"Of course, Raphael. I would never ask that of you."

Raphael's nostrils flared and he sat up a little straighter, wary despite himself, so unexpected was his father's remark. His anger had dissipated upon sight of Splinter's parental anxiety, but he was still ready to fight for April, never expecting it could be any other way.

Splinter met his son's incredulous and suspicious expression with a quirked brow, tilting his head.

"What offence is there in love, my son, when freely given and willingly received? What would I have to gain in attempting to stand between it? I can see only loss in choosing such a path – too much to be borne. I never dared hope my sons would know the sweetness and joy of love – but though I fear for you, as all fathers are compelled to fear for their children when they can no longer protect them, I am happy for you too, Raphael. And perhaps now I may even dream such a blessing may be experienced by your brothers also."

Raphael could not speak for the lump in his throat, and his eyes burned fiercely with the force of emotion that pressed behind them. Still his heart hammered fiercely against his ribs but no longer spurned on by anger. He had grossly underestimated his sensei and in the face of such loving compassion he was left utterly disarmed, all the defensive fury that had been pent up inside him dissipating as suddenly as if a dam had broken.

He swallowed hard and managed a wry grin, though his lip trembled. "Even Mikey?" he said and Splinter barked a laugh, raspy as sandpaper.

"Mikey – in a few years," Splinter conceded with quiet joviality and the two looked across the table at each other with a peaceable fondness that had been all too rare in their interactions over the years – but no less resilient for that.

Splinter picked up his tea cup again and took a sip, musing thoughtfully over the brew. "You have so much to give – you all do. And you are deserving of so much. Of course I want for you to experience all that life has to offer, as much as I desire to shield you from the worst of its blows. But a father must grow with his children." The rat drained his cup and met Raphael's gaze with a steady gravity. "But I ask you remember that April is beloved by us all and we will all wish to spend time with her."

Raphael winced to have his darkest impulses so bluntly addressed, but acknowledged the ultimate reasonableness of the point the rat made with an inclination of his head. "Yes, father."

Splinter rose to his feet, indicating their audience was at an end, smoothing his whiskers thoughtfully as he regarded Raphael. "And for vanishing and sending no adequate message to explain – I think taking on your brothers' cleaning duties for the next week will be sufficient."

Raphael exhaled but otherwise did not react. Cleaning was a drag and taking on the duties for the entire household was a gargantuan task but he was getting off lightly and he knew it. He wasn't about to look this gifthorse in the mouth. He inclined his head again. "_Hai_, sensei."

He stood up, stretched and scratched the back of his head, knowing he was dismissed but hesitating, not entirely sure why, reluctant yet to leave. He looked down at the rat who had taken on the task of raising four mutant turtles as his own children for no discernible reason than the generosity and kindness of his own spirit and found himself unexpectedly blinking rapidly, fighting the feelings he customarily buffered with anger.

Looking up at the largest and most difficult of his surrogate children, Splinter's gaze welled with compassion as he perceived the struggle he waged and he stepped around the table and to his son's side, laying a paw upon his thick, scaly forearm. Raphael was grateful for the touch; more grateful his father knew somehow exactly how far to go so as to permit Raphael to meet him halfway, and in an impulsive surrender to vulnerability, Raphael did something he had not done in years: he stooped at the waist and embraced his father, who hugged him back and rested a furry cheek against one massive deltoid.

"Good luck, my son," Splinter whispered, his grip at once strong but yielding, treasuring the rare moment of open affection but ready to step away the second Raphael wished to break the embrace.

Raphael pressed his eyes shut and replied, his voice hoarse and soft:

"Thanks, dad."


End file.
